


Fathers and Sons

by perfect_plan



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Art, Crushes, Father-Son Relationship, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-26
Updated: 2020-02-26
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:41:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22907191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perfect_plan/pseuds/perfect_plan
Summary: Bucky Barnes gets thrown into a school project with new kid Steve Rogers and navigates a crush as well as building a better relationship with his own father.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 25
Kudos: 147





	Fathers and Sons

“James Barnes and Steven Rogers,” Dr Erskine called out and Bucky held back a groan.

He glanced across the class at Steve Rogers. He was huddled over his desk, a tiny figure in a huge hoodie. He made no indication of his feelings about being partnered with Bucky for their history assignment. It wasn’t that Bucky didn’t like Steve, he didn’t even _know_ him. All he really knew was that Steve was the new kid that nobody really spoke to, he lived in the huge old Schwartz house over on the other side of town and wore weird hipster clothes like oversized cable-knit sweaters and scarves, hoodies that were too big on him and even a poncho on occasion. _A poncho_. Bucky sighed.

“Try and pick a subject that isn’t obvious,” Dr Erskine said when he was done pairing everyone up. “Something that even you didn’t know about. I want these oral presentations to be interesting and to make your fellow students think.” He tapped the side of his head.

Bucky liked Dr Erskine. With his three-piece tweed suits and easy-going manner, it would be so easy for the students to walk all over him but he made everyone feel like his star pupil, even if their grades weren’t that great and everyone liked him for that. He made everyone _want_ to work harder.

Dr Erskine checked his pocket watch. A _pocket watch_. Come on. Bucky bet that Steve had a pocket watch too. “Okay, you’ve got 15 minutes left. Have a chat with your partner about your project and get the ball rolling.” He clapped his hands together and went back to his desk.

Steve glanced over his shoulder at Bucky with big blue eyes. His hair flopped into them and Bucky thought about how he looked like an emo kid that had been left out in the sun too long. No black hair, clothes or eyeliner but somehow still super emo. Bucky sighed again and got up, dragging his chair over to Steve’s desk. Everyone else was chatting away with their partners.

Steve sat up when Bucky approached, spinning his pencil nervously between his fingers. “Hi,” he said. He had this weird deep voice that didn’t go with the rest of him.

“Any ideas?” Bucky asked.

Steve shook his head. “I can make some notes at home tonight. Maybe we could meet in the library before school starts tomorrow?”

Bucky was an early bird so he didn’t mind that. “Sure. Maybe I’ll watch a ton of Drunk History and make some notes too.”

Steve visibly brightened. “I love Drunk History.”

Dr Erskine had tacked a large sheet of paper up near the whiteboard and wrote down SAM WILSON AND MARIA HILL – BASS REEVES.

“Aw, shit. Bass Reeves. That would have been a great project,” Bucky muttered. The bell rang and he got up and put his chair back. He got his bag and didn’t stop as he walked by Steve. “7.30 in the library?”

“Sure,” Steve said and Bucky was out of the door and off to his next class.

*

Bucky wasn’t sure why nobody talked to or hung out with Steve. His arrival in town and the mysterious rumours about his father’s work had pushed people away rather than make him a figure to gravitate to. Yet everyone talked _about_ him constantly.

“I still don’t get why his dad moved them into the grossest house in town. Old Man Schwartz was a serial killer,” Clint said at lunch that day when Bucky had told everyone about the project.

“He wasn’t a serial killer, he was a hoarder,” Sam said.

“Dude, they found a ton of dead animals in his house,” Clint said, wrinkling his nose.

“Yeah, because he was a _hoarder_ with a mental illness,” Sam argued. “And it was like six birds, not a ton of dead animals.”

Clint grumbled and Tony came back to the table with more fries for everyone.

Bucky grabbed a handful. “Well, I’ll probably end up going there for this project.”

“Does anyone actually know what Rogers’ dad does? Don’t they have some weird extension on their house that doesn’t match the rest of it?” Clint said.

Sam rubbed his eyes with a thumb and forefinger. “No, it’s a separate building and most likely a barn.”

“They don’t have any animals. I tell you, they’re building something in there,” Clint said and pointed the fry he was holding to each of them in turn.

Tony made a face. “Like what?”

Clint shrugged. “A supercollider?”

Bucky snorted. “That’s more like something Tony’s dad would build.”

“Who says he hasn’t?” Tony said.

Sam sighed. “Why do we always end up talking _about_ Rogers rather than _to_ him?”

“ _You_ go and talk to him if you love him so much,” Clint said.

Sam stood up and looked around the cafeteria. “Fine, I will. I’ll find him and invite him to sit with us.”

Clint and Tony made chuffing noises but Bucky watched with interest.

“He’s not here,” Sam said at last and sat down.

Tony laughed. “Well, that’s that.”

They all carried on with their usual lunchtime bullshit but Bucky glanced around occasionally anyway. He’d never seen Steve in the cafeteria. Wherever he ate his lunch, it wasn’t in here.

*

When Bucky got home that afternoon, he could hear the familiar sound of a ballgame on the TV coming from the living room. He kicked off his shoes and then grabbed a coke from the kitchen before saying hi. His dad was on his recliner watching baseball.

“Hey Dad,” Bucky said, swigging coke.

George Barnes looked up. “Hey son. Good day?”

“Yeah, not bad. Where’s Mom?”

“Over at Becca’s. She’ll get pizza on the way home.”

“Sweet,” Bucky said. “I’ll be upstairs.”

George nodded and got back to his game.

That was usually the extent of their interactions. Bucky had “come a bit later than the rest”, as his Mom liked to say, his two sisters already in their late teens when he was born. George Barnes had raised his daughters and although he been delighted to have a son, had remained in a state of puzzlement over Bucky throughout his childhood, the generation gap between them already further apart than usual. Bucky didn’t like sports, didn’t like westerns and was gay. None of which mattered to Bucky’s father – his own brother was gay – but they had nothing in common besides being father and son. Bucky knew his dad loved him but he was older than most dads with seventeen year-olds and they didn’t really know how to relate to each other on the best of days, both accepting that they in slightly different worlds. Bucky had never known any different.

He watched some Drunk History on his laptop and wrote down a few suggestions, all the while thinking about Steve Rogers and his stupid knitwear and his weird house. He had to admit he was curious. Steve and his Dad had lived in town for nearly a year and no-one really knew anything about them. He thought that maybe _something_ weird was going on, although not to the extent of Clint’s conspiracy theories. The building next to their house _was_ odd though. It had no windows so when you passed by the old Schwartz house, all you could see was a long wooden rectangle. Bucky thought there must be skylights in it but Clint was right about it not matching the rest of the house.

He blinked out of his musing when he heard the front door slam and his mom call out “Pizza! George, quick! The breadsticks are slipping!” and then skipped down the stairs for dinner, Steve Rogers forgotten for anchovies and pepperoni.

*

Just before 7:30am the next morning on his way to meet Steve in the library, Bucky stopped by Dr Erskine’s room and peered through the glass in the door at the project list on the wall. He cussed softly and took a photo of it. Five of the six suggestions he’d noted down were taken. Seemed like everyone had had the same idea by looking at Drunk History. He walked over to the library. School was busy, even at this early hour, with people taking part in clubs and the like. He saw Steve sitting at a table over by the window. He waved when he saw Bucky. There were two metal coffee cups on the table with him. He closed the sketchbook he had been drawing in.

“Hey,” Bucky said, slipping into a chair.

“Hey,” Steve said, “I brought you coffee, if you drink it.” He passed over one of the mugs. He was wearing an oversized navy blue hoodie, faded but well cared for. BOSTON UNIVERSITY was just about legible on the front.

“Thanks,” Bucky said gratefully. He sniffed it through the tiny opening. “Smells great.”

Steve smiled a little. “So, any ideas?”

Bucky slurped at his coffee and pulled up the photo on his phone. “Most of them have been nabbed.”

Steve frowned as he read the list. “Great, most of those were mine too.”

They sat in an awkward silence for a moment or two. Steve was looking out of the window and Bucky glanced at him, He wasn’t a bad-looking guy, kind of cute even, with a strangely angular face.

“How about the Tsavo man-eaters?” Steve said finally, snapping Bucky out of his pondering.

“The what?” Bucky asked.

“They were two lions that attacked railway constuction workers in Africa in the late 1800s. I doubt many people would know about it.”

Bucky’s interest had peaked despite himself. “Huh. Yeah, that sounds pretty cool. Pretty grisly too.”

Steve smiled a little. “Yeah, it was.” He pulled an ipad out of his bag and tapped on it pulling up an article and passing it to Bucky.

He read for a few moments and then nodded. “That’s awesome. Let’s do it. I’ll go into Dr Erskine’s room and write it down before someone else takes it.”

“Cool,” Steve said. He turned his coffee cup around with his hands tucked into the long sleeves of his hoodie. “Want to come over to mine to work on it tomorrow?”

“Sure,” Bucky said. He imagined Clint’s face when he told him he’d be going to Steve’s house.

Steve nodded and held out his hand for Bucky’s phone. Bucky unlocked it and handed it over, watching Steve’s slender hands as he tapped in his number. “Meet by the main gate tomorrow at 3pm?”

“Sure thing,” Bucky said and drained the rest of his cup. “Thanks for the coffee.” He stood to leave and Steve opened his sketchbook again.

Bucky hesitated and then turned back to look at Steve. “Hey, I eat lunch every day in the cafeteria with Sam Wilson, Tony Stark and Clint Barton. They’re good guys. You can come and join us if you like.”

Steve blinked in surprise and then smiled a little. “Thanks. I’m not in there all that often; I’m on the art committee and usually help Ms Carter with stuff during lunch.” He shrugged. “But maybe I will. If the offer still stands.”

“Anytime,” Bucky said and gave Steve a little wave before he left.

*

“You have to take photos of the inside of that house. I bet it’s weird as shit,” Clint gushed at lunch.

“I’m not taking photos of his house,” Bucky said.

Clint grumbled. “At least tell us what’s in there when you go.”

Sam frowned. “Get a hobby, man.”

“I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little intrigued to see it,” Bucky said.

The truth was, he couldn’t stop thinking about Steve despite only ever having spoken to him twice. While he had an air of shyness about him, there was also a strange confidence that Bucky hadn’t encountered before. He couldn’t quite describe it but it fascinated him.

School passed in a boring hum for the rest of the day and Becca was in the kitchen with his mom when he got home.

“Hey bro,” she said.

“Hey yourself. Where’s Matt and Izzy?” Matt was Becca’s husband and Izzy was their six year-old daughter.

“Horse riding. They’ll be here for dinner. How’s school?”

Bucky shrugged. “Fine. I’m doing a project on man-eating lions.”

“Lovely,” his mom said with a frown.

Bucky grinned and stole a piece of carrot from the chopping board, crunching it loudly.

Becca passed him a cup of coffee from the kitchen counter. “Take this to Dad if you’re heading that way.”

Bucky saluted and took the coffee. He heard Becca chuckle as he walked out and then say to his mom “he’s so odd. It’s great.”

His dad was watching an episode of Columbo in the living room and nodded gratefully when Bucky set the coffee down beside him. Bucky watched the show with him for a little while, both of them laughing at Columbo’s deliberate bumbling.

He headed to his room to do some homework but spent most of it messaging Clint and Sam. He looked briefly for Steve Rogers on Facebook but he wasn’t on there or Instagram. He heard the cacophony of Matt and Izzy arriving and the house suddenly grew louder and he forgot Steve Rogers in favor of dinner.

*

He was oddly nervous at 3pm the next day as he waited for Steve. The Old Schwartz house had been a source of great terror for the kids in town for years, Bucky included. It had always been a hulking overgrown mess with peeling paint and windows blacked out with dust and muck. Bucky had seen it since Steve and his dad had moved in sure, but it still held that haunted house air for him.

Steve jogged to him a little after 3:10pm, cheeks flushed. “Sorry, I got held up in the art room.” He had a smudge of blue paint on his chin.

“No problem,” Bucky said and they fell into step together.

Steve was wearing a huge off-white cable-knit sweater and skinny jeans. He looked ridiculous. He also looked very cute. Bucky tried not to think about it.

“It’s not far to walk,” Steve said, kneading the strap of his messenger bag with both hands.

“I like walking,” Bucky said. They fell silent again.

Jeez, this was awkward.

Bucky glanced sideways at Steve. He was looking down at the side walk and chewing the inside of his cheek.

“So I gotta tell you, I’m terrified to go to your house,” Bucky blurted out.

Steve looked up at him, a comical frown crossing his face. “Um, why?”

“Well, you live in Old Man Schwartz’s house. It’s like _the_ haunted house, you know?”

Steve’s face broke into a grin. “Oh come on.”

Bucky held up his hands. “I swear! Every kid in town has been shitting it over that house for years.”

Steve laughed. “Okay, I can see why I guess. Sorry to disappoint you but it’s not haunted.”

“The guy who lived there before you was a bit...” Bucky waggled his hand.

“Of a hoarder?” Steve offered. “We know. We ended up clearing out most of the house, me and my dad.”

Bucky couldn’t help himself. “Was it fucked up?”

Steve was more at ease now and the walk was less awkward. “It was sad more than anything. There were newspapers dated from the 60s in there and so many old photographs. Like, most of them weren’t even his, just piles of random old photos. Lots of furniture stacked up, even parts of old cars.” he glanced at Bucky’s questioning face. “Nothing dead, if that’s what you’re after.”

“Not me but my friend Clint is convinced he was a serial killer.”

“No. Just a very ill old man who died alone. He didn’t even have any family. The real estate company were just going to hire someone to clear the house but my dad felt super bad and insisted on doing it. It took days but we kept some stuff. Things we thought meant something to Mr Schwartz. It seemed too sad to just throw the guy’s whole life away.” He stopped talking when he saw Bucky staring at him. “Weird, right?”

Bucky shook his head. If anything, he was moved. Steve spoke as if this was all just something anyone would do but it wasn’t. For some reason it hit Bucky right in the chest.

Steve kicked at a stone on the sidewalk. “Anyway, the whole place had to be gutted; there was mold everywhere and everything was like sixty years old. But my dad likes a project so...” He shrugged.

They walked in silence again and the houses became more sparse as they headed towards Steve’s which was on the edge of town surrounded by fields and woods. Bucky’s stomach twisted as the Old Schwartz House (or would that be the New Rogers House now?) loomed up before them, the strange squat wooden building next to it. However, when he saw the new clear windows and the care that had gone in to tidying the front garden and the paint on the house itself, his stomach eased up. It didn’t quite look like the big dark scary place it had once been.

Steve hopped up the front steps. “Come on in. We’ll get snacks and then go to my room.” He unlocked the front door.

Bucky gawped as they stepped into the front hall. “Holy shit, this place is huge!” The hall was bigger than Bucky’s living room.

Steve grinned. “The ceilings are high which makes it feel bigger and it has all of these weird out-of-style fittings that were popular in the 60s. Dad says it’s Gothic Revival by way of American Kitsch.”

Bucky had no idea what that meant. “I have no idea what that means,” he mumbled as he looked at a huge abstract painting on the wall. It was...kind of nice. Slashes of thick paint in blues and purples that were somehow warm and comforting. He couldn’t pull his eyes away. He wasn’t all that into art but this was definitely doing something to him.

Steve laughed. It was a deep rumble and Bucky’s stomach twisted for an entirely different reason. “Come on.”

He led Bucky through to a huge modern kitchen diner. There was an area in the corner with a flat screen TV on the wall and a couple of ratty but comfy looking couches, strewn with blankets and books.

“We have a den but we hang out in here mostly. Close to the food.” Steve started to gather supplies from the fridge.

Bucky snorted and shook his head. “This place is amazing.”

“All of the windows are huge. Dad nearly pitch a fit when he found out how much they’d cost to replace but he’s all about the light.”

Bucky wasn’t sure what Steve meant but he nodded and followed him back into the hall where they both ascended the huge staircase. The upstairs hall had a long thin floor-to-ceiling window and Bucky whistled as they walked by it. He looked out onto a lawn that could do with a mow. The edge of the property was flanked by woods. “Wow. Are you rich?”

Steve laughed. “My dad knows a lot of people who can help with fixing up places like this.”

“That’s not an answer,” Bucky said.

“No, it’s not,” Steve said with a little grin and Bucky couldn’t help but grin back. This was all pretty awesome.

Steve’s room was huge, with a big bay window. Art materials sat on a huge desk with a drawing board covered in papers and an easel housing a canvas smeared with paint. There were two big bookcases full of books, an old-style wardrobe and a modern-looking chest of drawers. There were pictures tacked to the walls; video-game characters, a few movie posters, art prints.

“So what’s supposed to be?” Bucky asked, pointing at the canvas. “Like something representational?”

Steve dropped the snacks and drinks onto his bed. “No, I was testing out some new paints. They’re just color swatches”

Bucky grunted. “You have paint on your chin.”

Steve grabbed his laptop and flopped to the floor. “I know.” He tossed Bucky a soda and opened a bag of chips and some salsa.

Bucky snorted again as he grabbed a beanbag and sat down. “So, where do we start?” he asked as Steve opened his laptop.

For the next two hours, they mapped out their presentation and listened to music. Steve was into a lot of older stuff and some folksy stuff that wasn’t really Bucky’s bag but he enjoyed none the less. He was actually really into the subject of their project: Two young male lions had terrorised a railway building site in 1800s Africa and had attacked and eaten 12 workers. It was weird because male lions didn’t usually band together, especially adolescent ones, let alone to kill humans and they returned to the site many times in a calculated fashion and were nearly invincible. It was all pretty fascinating.

“Hey, you know what would be really cool?” Bucky said, sitting up from the comfy slump he had been in on the beanbag and brushing chip crumbs back into the packet. “We could set up some hidden speakers in class and then blast out a lion roar at random.”

Steve’s blue eyes lit up. “That’s would be amazing! Let’s do it.”

They spent a few more minutes planning and then Steve stood up and stretched. “Want to stay for dinner? Dad gave me money for pizza.”

“Heck yeah, pizza,” Bucky said and checked his phone. It was 5:30pm. He texted his mom and told her he’d be home by 8pm.

They both made their way back down to the kitchen and Bucky sat on one side of the huge kitchen counter that doubled as a breakfast bar. Steve sat on the other side and tossed a take-out menu at Bucky. They settled on two large pies, one meat supreme and one veggie delight, and Steve called and placed the order. They drank more soda and talked for a while about Netflix shows, family and school.

“So it’s just you and your dad?” Bucky asked after telling Steve about his sisters.

“Yeah. My mom died after I was born. Dad raised me by himself.”

Bucky stuttered. “Oh, I’m...shit, sorry.”

“It’s okay. He’s a pretty good dad. He’s away on a business trip but he’ll be back later tonight.”

No sooner had Steve said that, they heard the front door open and close. Steve grinned and waited.

A moment later, a tall blond man wearing an expensive looking suit and who had Steve’s eyes entered the kitchen and placed a small suitcase wearily by the door. He smiled wide when he saw Steve and wider when he saw Bucky. Steve jumped off of his stool and ran to the man giving him a huge hug, unembarrassed that Bucky was there.

“You’re home! I didn’t think you’d be back until eleven.”

Steve’s dad dropped a kiss on Steve’s mop of hair and slung an arm over his shoulder. “Meeting finished early and I paid extra for a different flight. I’m bushed.”

Steve sat back down. “We just ordered pizza.”

Steve’s dad nodded thankfully. “Sweet, I’m starving. So who’s this?” He smiled delightedly at Bucky. Obviously Steve hadn’t had many friends back for dinner.

Bucky held out his hand. “I’m Bucky, Mr Rogers. Nice to meet you.”

Steve’s dad shook Bucky’s hand and grinned wider. “Nice to meet you, Bucky. Please call me Joe.”

Joe was much younger than Bucky’s dad, in his late-thirties Bucky guessed. He had a very pleasant air about him Bucky liked him already. Joe sat down next to Steve and ruffled Steve’s hair.

“We’re doing an English project together,” Steve said.

“About man-eating lions,” Bucky added.

Joe chuckled. “Cool.”

The doorbell rang and Steve’s jumped up to answer it, leaving Bucky and Joe alone.

“I like your house,” Bucky said. “I have to tell everyone at school that it’s not haunted house any more.”

Joe laughed. “It was a little gnarly when we bought it but if there are any ghosts, they obviously don’t like our taste in music and keep away.”

Steve came back with the pizzas and they ate and talked. Bucky was having the best time. Joe was nothing like his own dad who grunted every time he got up from a chair and kept to himself for the most part.

Joe plucked at Steve’s sweater. “Wearing more of my clothes, I see.”

Steve ducked his head. “Your stuff is warmer than mine.” He frowned when he saw Bucky smirking. “What?”

“Nothing. Just makes sense now. Is the poncho yours too?” he asked Joe.

Joe groaned. “Don’t tell me you dug out that old thing.”

“I _like_ that poncho,” Steve grumbled.

Bucky snorted. “Is definitely makes a statement.”

“And that statement is that it’s very hard to pull off a poncho,” Joe said.

“I think Steve does,” Bucky said and immediately flushed when Steve gave him a curious look. “I mean,” he continued quickly, “it fits his reputation as the artsy loner.”

Steve chuckled but Joe looked momentarily sad at the word “loner.” Bucky felt bad.

“I mean, a _mysterious_ loner. My friends are low-key obsessed with him,” he added.

“Who is _him_?” Steve said. “The cat’s uncle?”

Joe laughed. “Okay okay, wear my poncho. What do I care? It was a bad fashion choice on my part but you millenials can wear all the ponchos you like.”

“We’re not millenials, you’re a millenial technically.” Steve said and Joe stuck his tongue out. “Mature too.”

They all ate in companionable silence for a few minutes.

“So, did you sell it?” Steve asked his dad.

Joe nodded around a mouthful of pizza. “Yep.”

“Have you tweeted it yet?”

“No, I’ll do it tomorrow. I can barely think beyond pizza right now.”

Bucky had no idea what they were talking about but watched with interest.

Joe finished his slice. “I’m beat.” He stood and kissed Steve’s head. “Maybe you and Bucky could choose the next place together. Good to meet you Bucky; don’t be a stranger.”

“’night Dad,” Steve said and Joe waved as he left the kitchen and headed upstairs.

“Your dad’s cool,” Bucky said.

Steve shrugged but Bucky could see that he was proud. “Yeah, he’s okay. Are you close to your dad?”

Bucky shrugged and fiddled with an uneaten crust. “Not really. I came along when Dad was forty-seven and my sisters were already going to college and stuff. He’s a good dad, just, we don’t have much in common.”

“Maybe you could find something,” Steve said. He reached for his soda.

Bucky shrugged. “Maybe. So is your dad like a fancy businessman or something?”

Steve choked on his soda, sending droplets flying. He coughed and laughed. “No! Oh my god, he’ll think that’s hilarious.”

“I don’t get the joke,” Bucky said.

Steve was still laughing as he wiped down the counter. He stood up. “Come on, I’ll show you.”

Confused, Bucky followed Steve to the door that led out onto the back porch. The sun was starting to get low and the sky was an amazing dusky pink. Steve hopped down the porch steps and led Bucky to the low flat building where there was a door in the side. For some reason Bucky was a little nervous as he followed Steve.

But when Steve opened the door and they both stepped in, Bucky couldn’t help but gasp. The whole side of the building that couldn’t be seen from the street was completely filled with floor to ceiling glass doors and overlooked the sloping garden that led to the woods. The early evening light filtered in, giving the huge room a soft warm glow. Bucky looked around. It was an art studio. There were tables covered with canvases, paint, brushed, bags of clay, half-finished sculptures. Shelves held art supplies and books and portfolios. A huge canvas propped up against the wall was blank but dotted in post-it notes of all colours with ideas hastily added. There was a big out-of-date stereo system with stacks of CD’s next to it. There was a small kitchenette at the far end and door that led to an even smaller bathroom.

“Holy shit.” Bucky said.

Steve smiled. “Dad’s an artist. The only reason he was wearing a suit was to sell one of his paintings to a big fancy corporation in L.A.”

“So you _are_ rich,” Bucky said.

“Not quite. Dad does this thing.” He hopped up onto one of the tables and sat, legs dangling. “These fancy places commission him for like a lobby piece because they saw his work in some magazine and Dad charges them...a lot. But when he gets paid, he donates the money to a charity or somewhere that needs it and very publicly thanks the corporation for giving their money to a good cause. They’re usually so flustered by the wave of Twitter and Instagram positivity that they can’t come out and say they _didn’t_ donate, so they kind of end up supporting the charity further.”

Bucky gawped. “No way. There’s no way that works.”

Steve grinned. “It’s worked four times so far and Dad’s making it his mission. Some of these places are so far up their own asses they have no idea what Dad is doing so they just have to save face. It’s failed more times than it’s worked sure, but Dad wants to keep going just to see how long he can get away with it. He only goes after companies he knows can afford to do it. It’s a drop in the ocean but you know...”

Bucky shook his head. “That’s more than a drop. That’s...wow.”

Steve smiled, pleased. “It feels good.”

“But isn’t it annoying if they take credit for what your dad did?” Bucky asked.

“Dad doesn’t care. He’s a guerilla artist. Even though he’s well-known, he does a lot of stuff anonymously too.”

“So your dad’s a famous artist?” Bucky started to slowly wander around the studio, looking at everything.

“Kind of, I guess? In certain circles, not like internationally. We lived in Amsterdam for three years and he was the resident artist at an art gallery for a while and then he helped to run a few others on and off around the city. It was pretty awesome.” Steve jumped down from the table. “I love it in here. In the summer, we opened all the doors and it was just amazing.”

Bucky found a stack of paintings that were similar to the ones in Steve’s rooms. “You work in here too?”

Steve tucked his arms under his huge sweater and into the pockets of his jeans. “Yeah, mainly on weekends so I can hang out with Dad.”

“That -” Bucky began but he stopped.

Over at the back of the studio, propped into a corner, were four life-sized figures made of carefully bent sticks and twigs. Bucky headed over to look at them. They were all slightly shorter than him and each one was built as though it was walking, legs apart, arms dangling. They were meticulous. Bucky didn’t quite know how to react; he’d never had two emotional reactions to any art ever, let alone in one day. Looking at the profiles of the heads of each figure, he realised something.

“These are you!” he said to Steve.

Steve shyly walked over. “Yeah, they are. I made them.”

Bucky breathed out. “These are incredible,” he said quietly.

“It’s called The Hollow. They’re actually out of context right now. Here.” He waved Bucky over to a table and began to flip through one of the portfolios. It was filled with photos of different sculpture pieces, presumably by Steve’s dad. Bucky recognised a couple of things in the studio. Steve turned the portfolio to Bucky. The photo was of the four figures “walking” through some woods. It was eerie and beautiful at the same time.

“Wow,” Bucky said. “This is just...” He couldn’t quite get out what he wanted to say.

“Thanks,” Steve said. He was watching Bucky shyly. He pulled the sleeve containing the photo out of the portfolio and handed it to Bucky. “Here.”

“Are you sure?” Bucky asked.

“I can print another one,” Steve said.

They stood in silence for a moment and then Bucky turned to look out at the setting sun. Steve came and stood next to him. Bucky didn’t want to look at Steve because his crush (yes, he could finally admit that to himself) had gone from 5 to 500 in the space of ten minutes.

“I’d better head home,” he said finally. “Thanks for this.” He was still holding the photo carefully.

“You’re welcome,” Steve said and they headed out of the studio and back to the house.

Bucky grabbed his bag and Steve walked him to the door. Bucky looked at the abstract painting in the hallway again. “So cool,” he murmured and Steve smiled again.

*

When Bucky got home, he had intended to go up to his room and put Steve’s photo on his wall and then maybe think about Steve for a while but he heard the TV on in the living room and went to say hi to his dad. It was his mom’s book club night and she wouldn’t be back until late. His dad was in his chair, a Western on TCM.

“Hey Pop,” Bucky said and his dad turned to look at him.

“Hey son. Good studying?”

“Yeah, we got tons done.” Bucky was about to say goodnight but something stopped him. He thought of Steve and his dad. He nodded to the TV. “Is this Once Upon A Time In The West?”

George smiled. “Yeah, it just started. Great movie. You’ve seen it?”

“No, but I know the soundtrack. Um, I could grab us some popcorn and we could...watch it together?”

George looked surprised but when he spoke he sounded delighted. It made Bucky’s chest warm. “That would be great,” he said.

Bucky hurried to the kitchen and put some popcorn packets in the microwave. He and his dad never did anything together but suddenly Bucky wanted to change that. He was excited and a little nervous, which was stupid. He poured the popcorn into two bowls and headed back to the living room, passing his dad a bowl and sitting in the other arm chair.

“So what have I missed?” Bucky asked.

“Well, Henry Fonda is a real bad guy in this...” His dad started to talk about what had happened.

The rest of the evening was really nice, surprisingly nice. The movie was really great and Bucky had no idea that his dad was such a movie buff. He knew a ton about the actors and the music and Bucky didn’t think he’d ever heard his dad sound so enthusiastic about anything before. Maybe he’d just needed to share something with Bucky long enough for that all to come back out.

When Bucky’s mom got back from her book club, she poked her head into the den and raised her eyebrows.

“Movie night?” she asked. Bucky could hear the delight in her voice. The film was just ending. Bucky gathered up the popcorn detritus from his lap.

“Yeah. Maybe we’ll make a Western fan of Bucky yet,” George said and shifted in his chair, his back cracking loudly. “Oof.”

Bucky smiled. “Maybe. Thanks Pop, That was fun.” He got up and pecked his mom on the cheek. “Goodnight. See you both tomorrow.”

As he went upstairs he could hear his folks talking quietly.

“Where did that come from?” his mom asked happily.

“I don’t know,” his dad answered, “but I’m not questioning it. That was wonderful.”

Bucky hadn’t felt this good in a while. He grinned.

**Author's Note:**

> This was going to be a one-shot but because work has been slightly insane, I thought I'd post what I've been sitting on and hope it's a good incentive for me to chip away at part two!
> 
> I've never written a story that really involved Joseph Rogers before so it's been nice to explore the character. Part two will involve him a lot more!
> 
> Hope everyone is well; my usual apology for not responding to comments, but they still mean a huge amount to me when I get them!


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